Guilty Pleasures
by silent-entrance
Summary: One Shot. Drabble. Well, not really, but I like the word. "Sabrina pushed away her bowl of noodles, suddenly not so hungry. Falling in love was always messy."


Everyone has things they're not proud of, _guilty pleasures, _if you must. Whether it be Twilight, 2 Minute Noodles or a really unhealthy obsession with chick flicks, everyone has them. Sabrina Grimm? Well, she was in denial. She had forced herself through all the Twilight series, ate 2 Minute Noodles once a week and tried to force an emotion other then pure disgust at the mere _thought_ of P.S I Love You, but there was no point in denying it further- her guilty pleasure was simply not one that other people should know.

HER guilty pleasure was a right pain in the ass, and made her want to commit a homicide. HER guilty pleasure had the nasty habit of saving her life, and therefore made it disgustingly difficult to hate him. HER guilty pleasure wasn't one she was proud of, and was certainly not one that she would ever admit too, but regardless, she couldn't help but smile when he came down in the morning, his hair a mess and rubbing his eyes like a small child, complaining about Sabrina and the noise and Sabrina and the smell and Sabrina and the fact that he was, God forbid, given a home and clothes and a family.

Sabrina often thought that she should perhaps slap some sense into him, tell him to sit down and shut up and stop being an absolute shit, but every time she ever got furiously mad at him, mad enough to make her want to just wrap her hands around this throat and tell him to get over himself, he would smile or wink or make some stupid sarcastic comment that she SHOULDN'T find freaking funny, but she did.

It's not like she _wanted _to find him attractive, not like she _wanted_ to be in his company, but sometimes guilty pleasures just can't be denied. Like those people who read New Moon under the covers with a flashlight, or slip Titanic onto the counter at Video Ezy like they're purchasing streets drugs, she appreciated her guilty pleasure in the most secret of circumstances. When the object of her scrutiny was perhaps closing his eyes with annoyance at the ignorance of lesser people then himself, or talking to someone else, his eyes otherwise preoccupied, she would search for the smile on his lips, or the small curl in his hair that made it stick up like he'd just woken up.

When she'd first discovered her guilty pleasure, she would get caught in her, (shudder at the term,) _obsession, _and hard as she may have tried to pass it off with an insult or staring off into space, she knew she wasn't fooling anyone. However, she now was so stealthy and sneaky about it that she would have been proud of herself if it just weren't so dismally pathetic. It wasn't that she LIKED the boy, personality wise- oh God no. She just would sometimes get lost in her thoughts and realize that the faceless stranger who was holding her hand or whispering her sweet nothings was in fact the boy grinning across from her as he shoved some unidentifiable crap into his mouth, spitting and spraying all over the table.

Looks wise? Well, she couldn't deny to even just herself that he was an, ahem, good looking boy, just so long as you take that secret to the grave, thank you very much. She knew every contour of his face by heart, could trace it with her eyes closed and not miss a line- except his eyes. See, when Sabrina could indeed memorize his face in a way that near constituted stalking, it was when his eyes were preoccupied, and she never got to quite study them as she would have liked.

So what was there left to do? Sabrina was stuck, between her hatred for the boy who was the biggest pain in her ass since Daphne was 3, and her almost-obsession with the boy who she knew was there somewhere, and she was waiting to come out. So, after many nights of weak excuses and even a few unnamed tears, she came to the conclusion that this was not meant to be meddled in- this wasn't her business to be manipulating, and to just let the situation sleep. Things would stay simple, clean. This became an almost mantra for the girl, as she repeated it to herself through many nights and days of half-grins and insults, until she decided that she didn't want things to be clean anymore.

She was lost in thought about unknown eyes and a simple habit of saving her life, when banging on the steps overhead bought her out of her reverie, bringing a grin and a could-have-been-a-wink, could-have-been-the-light.

"Hey Ugly," the boy exclaimed. Sabrina pushed away her bowl of noodles, suddenly not so hungry.

"What's up, Ugly?" He laughed.

"Lost my appetite," she replied sarcastically. Falling in love was always messy.


End file.
